A Prelude to the Fire
by Lord Forte
Summary: As the war against Noxus grinds on, the Sovereign of Ionia catches wind of trickery in her courts. Syndra turns her inscrutable gaze upon the Placidium and the Duchess Karma, who has invited Demacia itself to Ionia in secret. A game of nations ensues as she intervenes and finds herself treating with these new foreigners, and her eye caught by a peculiar woman.
1. Chapter 1

[~]

High above the earth, farther than any bird might fly and where clouds claimed dominion, a galling testament of humanity stood. It drifted silently amongst the skies, bordering the very Heavens themselves, its immense grounds stretching wide and deep. Ornate, yet functional, buildings topped this floating island, solid stonework defined by masterfully crafted wood. A temple in all appearances, belied by the peaceful serenity of its gardens and the calming breeze.

In this outlandish bastion there were no monks, no gods or spirits who had tribute. Instead there were servants and mages, one tending to the grounds while the other entertained arcane arts. They came far and wide from their homelands in Ionia, each an outcast, persecuted for the sole crime of existing. To them, this was their home, the last stronghold against a world which relentlessly hunted them.

They owed their survival to the one who created it all, the sovereign ruler of this celestial fortress. A mage with few, if any, peers, embodied by a potential unimaginable to most mortal souls. She moved their home with a mere thought, and kept it afloat much the same, an act that might have shattered droves of lesser beings in the attempt. Such capability bespoke fear in the civilized world aboard, but to the mages and servants, she was their protector. Aloof and inscrutable, few could claim a familiarity, let alone knowledge, on what truly drove sovereign Syndra and her ambitions.

[~]

"... And the Yue-Hon from the Reitasi province are petitioning again for reduced tariffs," a servant quietly addressed, looking at a long scroll in her hands.

"Have they issued an apology yet?" a woman asked, her voice reverberating through the meeting hall. It was not merely the effect of an echo, but a thrumming dissonance, an ineffable power that drowned the room with its presence.

The servant checked once more. "No, my lady, they have not."

Her long arm reached out to the cherry wood table, her lithe fingers adorned with jeweled claws. The onyx metal took on a slight purplish hue as the sunlight struck it, its amethyst-embedded tips plucking a small cup. With practiced grace, and the tea inside perfectly still, Syndra sipped, enjoying the lukewarm drink.

"It speaks for itself, then." Chortling into her teacup, the white-haired lady's piercing eyes gazed over the rim. Dark magic radiated within them, glowing with a terrifying purple light. "The taxes will continue."

"It has been quite some time ..." the servant trailed off at their lady's sharpening glare. They bowed, almost falling to their knees in doing so.

"Write a missive rejecting this petition. And, should they insult me further, I would be inclined to worsen their punishment." The sovereign took another sip, paying no attention to the fumble.

"As you will, my sovereign."

"That concludes everything, Min?" She waited, and the servant nodded hesitantly. "Good." The sovereign waved with her free hand in an unspoken command. Min gathered her things and scuttled from the room, nearly tripping over doing so. In the quiet that followed, Syndra sighed.

 _What a bother,_ she thought to herself, having one last sip of tea before setting the cup down. Gathering herself up, she rose to her full height and reached overhead, stretching her back until it popped. Shaking her hands and flexing her fingers, a jolt of crackling energy erupted from their tips, racing up to her shoulders and vanishing.

One of the hall's wide open windows became her perch, the sovereign leaning on the wood frame as she gazed out. The central courtyard stretched beneath her, a footnote to the vast mountainous forest that laid beyond. More than those idyllic sights, however, she welcomed the fall breeze.

 _Ridiculous children. They denounce my rule and expect there will not be any repercussions?_ She delicately pinched the bridge of her nose, mindful of her claws. _If I remember, they are due for a change in Elders next year. Maybe such hardship will make them reconsider._

Flexing her fingers, a flicker of concentration made the air warp in her palm. A tiny sphere of magic formed, little more than a black hole whose event horizon glowed purple. She rolled it between her fingers, a balancing game long practiced for her. _Still, having the Reitasi would secure that region quite comfortably. If I do not punish their outspoken rudeness, however, that would invite unwanted thoughts to the rest._

The tedious speculation of politics drew a sigh out of her. There was never a right answer, only ones that made different problems-as far as she could tell, at least. Syndra filed those concerns away, letting her gaze aimlessly drift as the sphere rolled over in her fingers.

A sound soon came, however, that of sandals slapping against wood. Certainly, a servant had come to see her, she was willing to guess.

Not more than a few minutes later did a sound reach her ears. It wasn't the heavy step of a guard, nor the definitive wooden clomp of a grounds keeper. Quieter, as befitting of one who worked inside. Sure enough, a familiar four knocks for permission came, and the large Shoji door slid open.

"My sovereign," greeted a man covered head-to-toe in concealing robes, kneeling at the entrance.

 _There is always something,_ Syndra thought wearily as she turned to scrutinize the servant. He entered upon her beckoning, shuffling to the center of the hall before kneeling again. "Speak, Yun-ji."

"I've word from the shadow ninja ," he rasped, his voice as if every breath was laborious. "Duchess Karma moves."

Pulling away from the comfortable window, her magic lifted her a few inches from the floor. Syndra glided over to him, her arms neatly folded behind her back. Yun-ji's head bowed again in respect as she inquired, "In what way?"

"With the invaders stalled, she has reached to their enemies in Demacia. I know not how, but the very Crown Prince has taken an interest."

Squinting her eyes, the sovereign tried to recall what strange order the foreigners used, staring at the ceiling briefly. _A 'king' rules over all, then his son, then his daughters, is it not?_ It proved harder recalling how they worked than she would've liked.

"What of it, then?"

"The Demacians will send a small fleet of trade ships to the eastern provinces. They've mages who will build a portal for the Crown Prince to arrive through."

That was altogether more concerning to her. The sovereign turned away, aimlessly hovering through the hall as she mulled the idea over. "How long until they arrive?"

"A week or less, my lady."

Syndra frowned darkly. "Then this arrangement of theirs has been well in motion. Where will this portal be made?"

"By all accounts, within the Placidium."

"Fitting."

Were that all it could be, a portal at one of Ionia's central points of government would open much with Demacia. _They will not help us merely to spite Noxus and their invasion. They will want more, just like every other Valoran city-state. But, what?_

A sourness sat on her tongue. _What do they want from us?_

"Yun-ji." Syndra said, her voice resolute. "Inform the others we will be visiting the Placidium."

"My lady?"

His curious question came as the sovereign reached into her magic for more than a simple sphere. The totality of her floating fortress entered her mind, its size dwarfing any single town Ionia might possess. She grabbed hold of it with the force of her will alone and _pulled_.

The air and ground around them rattled as tremors rocked the fortress. In its own primal groan, its idle drifting slowed to a stop, a new destination compelling it. The transition was all but a few seconds, enough that everyone across Syndra's domain knew their sovereign planned for something.

"Let us treat with these Demacians." Her glowing eyes settled on the servant. "And give them a proper Ionian welcome."

"As you will." He bowed and left the hall.

Syndra returned to her place by the open window, staring aimlessly out. She could already imagine not only the cold weather, but the unsavory people the Placidium attracted. Conservatives, unjustifiably holy monks, and preachers of Balance; all manner of people who never achieved anything. All the people who let half of Ionia burn before she stepped in.

The sovereign rubbed at her temples for a moment to stave off the headache she knew was coming.


	2. Chapter 2

[~]

Located in the mountains that separated south-west Ionia from the central lands, one would invariably pass by—or through—the Placidium. Once known as the School of Transcendence, centuries of communal gatherings from all over Ionia had transformed it into a place of politic. All the elders would visit, be it every other month or year, and matters affecting all Ionia oft had their first words here.

With the elders came those to support them, and a varied community built over the ancient school. Monks, artisans, and anyone looking for solitude and intellect made the Placidium their home, bustling about the many gardens or food terraces dotting the mountain range. It would be these ordinary people who first felt the arrival.

They all came to a stop in their lives; in the streets, gardens, fields, it did not matter where. Many more slowly filtered out from their workshops and temples, concerned by the presence they all felt. A weight settled upon their souls, the presence of something utterly ineffable but one demanding of their attention. A cry of alarm broke out from the different sentries, and all their eyes climbed to the overcast sky as children hurried indoors.

The sun, peeking as it was through the clouds, disappeared behind an immense shadow. Clouds parted around it as ocean waves would upon a ship, blowing away into nothing as it descended. No horn or great drum accompanied it, nor any sort of sound at all—nothing to announce it, only an impossibly eerie silence for something so massive.

Their frightful awe twisted and transformed as word spread amongst the people, couriers and the like hurrying through the crowds. Their elated cries sought to soothe their reflexive fear, and the older ones amongst them soon recognized the sight for what it truly meant. Within the hour, all the Ionians were abuzz with feverish preparation across the Placidium.

The land that Gods themselves must ask to enter had arrived: the Celestial Fortress. And with it, their sovereign would soon visit them.

For one woman, dressed in a robe of white and black duality, she could only frown at the sight.

[~]

The skydock, as her servants and people referred to it, served as a large, 'flexible', port on her floating fortress. The whole structure was made of independent sections, each tethered to the other with arcane magic, making it quite flexible. One of its two roles was to be a landing area for airborne partisans; the other was to be a land bridge between the fortress and whatever earthly domain it docked with.

Nestled in a series of mountains, the height of the Placidium made it quite comfortable for her to dock the fortress to it. The same spot as always would fit quite well, and not so much as a tremor should go through the earth as everything settled together nicely. She made a note to handle the procedure later that evening, if the Demacians proved anything worthwhile.

"We are prepared, my lady," Min declared, bowing to Syndra.

The sovereign appraised the same jiao she always used on diplomatic affairs. The cherry wood had been recently oiled, and it looked like the padded seats on the outer ring were replaced as well. Nodding in approval, she drifted by it, leaving Min and her other attendants to take up their seats around the central throne.

A short walk away, across the wood and stone ground, she stared at the last matter there was to inspect. Three neat rows of five guards waited, their postures dignified and as implacable as statues. Shrouded head-to-toe in midnight cloth, thin armor adorned them. Forged from the same onyx steel as her own regalia, it overlapped and protected them like dragon scales, interlocking and free to move with. Yet, to any who looked upon their faces, they would find blank staring masks looking back, the eyes within a pale, heartless blue. Her servants oft referred to them as ninja, yaoguai, or other fanciful ideas, but those never came close.

 _They elect to join me, it seems,_ Syndra noted, pleased. She stopped before the center man in the first row, and as she did so, they all dropped to a knee, a harmonious rattle singing out in their impeccably precise movement. "There will be foreigners at the Placidium that I must treat with. Be certain to watch them, but stay your blades until it is utterly necessary."

"We will watch," the half-voice of a man answered, neither full nor warm, but empty and distant. "We see their hate crest the horizon, but it is not like the invaders."

"In what way?"

"A blade slick and crimson, yet its hand steady. The other fastened to the scabbard."

Syndra's brow creased and she nodded. Turning away, the guards rose behind her and marched in sync, their tabi-covered feet soundless on the ground. Syndra took her seat at the jiao's throne, her dress tastefully billowing around her and her dark spheres coming to rest at her knees. At the edges, on their own individual seated platforms, the guards took their seats, a single cloth tether tying them to the jiao.

Drawing upon her magic, barely a droplet's worth was needed to lift them. They glided out into the sky, the comfortableness of the fortress leaving them as the biting winds of the Placidium nipped at their bones. Winter in Ionia was fast approaching, and while most of her country would stay reasonably warm, the mountains sadly never did.

Snow, at least, hadn't settled on the granite and rosewood of the Placidium, much to her relief. The sovereign's eyes couldn't help glancing at the scaffolding crawling up some buildings, and the destroyed parts others still missed. _They are still repairing? That should have been done months ago._

She set her concern aside for later, instead turning her attention to the many Ionians in the grounds below beaming with excitement. They crowded out of monasteries, schools, and official buildings wherever they could. Syndra could feel all of their eyes on her, and a tinge of satisfaction welled. There were too many for her to pick out, but she tried anyway, leisurely gazing upon her subjects.

"Min, I have had a change of mind."

"Yes, my sovereign?"

"See to how much of a feast we could have here. If the Demacians are desirable, I would provide for them more than the Duchess."

"If all is well, and there is not enough, may I draw upon the fortress' stores?"

"Speak with Pao Hui once I complete the dock, there should be enough."

"I won't disappoint."

"You rarely do," Syndra said with a touch of finality, eyes set to the landing below. Their destination lay in one of the Placidium's grand plazas, this one spacious and uncluttered enough for her jiao to settle in. She slowed her descent as she neared the ground, giving her people time to arrive and swarm around in that polite way they always did as they took up their positions.

The jiao settled on the ground, the barest tremor as it stopped fully. Her attendants immediately disembarked, forming two lines before her, awaiting. Syndra drew herself upward, folding her arms together as she did, and took a few steps down from her throne. All the Ionians, seated upon their knees, fell forward in a singular wave, their hands on the ground with their heads upon them. The sovereign smiled and lifted herself up, the inert dark spheres flaring to life as they began their ceaseless orbiting of her once more.

Yet, for all who bowed, one did not, a woman of dark skin and black-white robes. Syndra narrowed her eyes at the all-too familiar lady and the iconic jade sculpted dragons that floated behind her. The guard took notice as well, their heads unanimously turning forward the disrespectful woman. The moment they did, the woman bowed, but not as low as the rest.

Ignorant of the exchange, Min stood up as the orator should, and spoke. Titles, greetings, honored respect, all of which bored Syndra, yet the people gladly took to them. By the end of it, the Ionians all stood, freed of the greeting ritual, and many of them lingering to watch. They heaped praises and thanks for her visitation, and she spared them a small wave—hip level, nothing extravagant. The dark skinned woman approached then, the crowds parting for her.

"Duchess Karma," Syndra greeted with steely politeness. "The one I wanted to see."

"I'm flattered to have your attention, my sovereign," Karma returned, her rich voice the peak of articulation and culture. "Your timing is as fortuitous as I could've hoped. Our esteemed guests will be arriving tomorrow."

"So soon?" Syndra made a show of holding her chin as if in thought. "I had expected a few more days to prepare. Tell me, Duchess, I see a Placidium that could be fashioned more to suit our guests. What do you think?"

"I think you will be pleasantly surprised at what we have ready, my sovereign." Karma smiled. "Would you join me at the Grand Hall? I am sure you would prefer a warm room and tea than out here."

 _Cheeky._

"And I thought you might not ask." The sovereign, with a flourish of her hands and a tiny touch of base, rose up from the jiao's seat. "It is unfortunate they chose now of all times to visit in the coldest winter months."

Min stood aside as Syndra hovered past, the sovereign's fanciful, yet concise dress billowing underneath her. The dark-plum fabric revealed its true eye-catching beauty in the afternoon sun, the pink flower patterns on it standing out all the more. The awed and envious eyes of the onlookers followed her progress, with many of the eyes resting upon the onyx steel helm and curved-spike shoulder armor adorning her.

Elegant, yet fierce, and altogether a proud statement, which her peasantry would undoubtedly debate over as they always had.

Karma gave the courteous bow of a host and led the way.

[~]

The Grand Hall earned its name more for its stature as a speaking podium than anything else. Here, the Elders and other leaders would lay their case, either for debate partners or the forum as a whole to address. No matter where one was, the sloping roof and carefully laid out seating always made their voice heard as clear as those on the debate floor. A sense of familiarity, however begrudging, always came when she visited.

Far too often did she herself have to brutally smash her rivals' inadequacies here. Village after village, each one had to be convinced of the threat that was coming. Actually earning their sword arms and warriors took even more effort. Pacifism was as much her enemy as the Noxians, no matter how much she wished it wasn't.

Her lip curled distastefully as such memories threatened to return. Syndra's ever-so-slight scowl remained as she stared out into the grand hall, seeking a reprieve in its changed self. The cold and clammy debating grounds laid before her, transformed into a warm, hearty glow of fire and heat filling her. Overhead paper lanterns, with all their fanciful patterns, flickered with light, three rows of wood tables almost glimmering with their polish.

That such a dreary place could be so different had been a pleasant surprise.

"Is something amiss, my sovereign?" Karma asked, pausing in mid sip of her tea.

"A distant thought comes to mind," Syndra remarked, clicking the tips of her jeweled fingers on her tea cup. The dinner table stretched between them, fine food and drinks all neatly arranged in a rectangular pattern in the center.

"Curiosity wants for the question," the duchess returned and sipped.

"Here we lay out our fine tapestry and finer foods still, and with carefully selected dance and music, do we not, Duchess?"

"That we are, my sovereign."

She had a lovely vantage point from the moderator's platform, at least. It wasn't that highly raised over the rest of the floor, but enough she could see over everyone's heads when they sat to eat. A good thirty, maybe forty elders could be here, at least.

"What might follow, then, should we find ourselves in the company of people who hate all that they see?" Syndra asked, her glowing eyes sliding toward Karma.

"I could hardly expect such a thing to pass, but, I've no doubt they will play the courteous guest, and we the host."

"Truly? The traders say Demacians are a courteous people, but with words of iron and hearts as cold as stone."

Karma hummed as if in thought, picking up her chopsticks. She plucked a neatly shaven strip of meat, thin and succulent and enjoyed it with some rice. She wiped her mouth clean before speaking. "Yes, I've heard the same. Some might find them such, but there is also a warmth to be found in their breast."

"How would you say?"

"A rule of law and justice, tempered by hardy compassion. Their hands are sterner than ours, but in all things I've heard, not one speaks of an unfair strike."

Syndra's painted lips, a fine velvety purple, peeled in a sneering smile. "One does not often hear of such things, after all."

The chopsticks paused in the air, frozen anxiously for a moment before they resumed. "That is true."

A break arose in the discussion and the two women busied themselves with their plates; fanciful Ionian pottery, a kind of porcelain that mixed with silver depending on the artisan's fancy. Enchanting to the eye, and something Syndra herself fancied collecting every so often.

"I find it curious that the 'Prince' of Demacia himself comes here," the sovereign remarked, neatly wiping her mouth clean after a sip of tea. "I cannot think of any dealings we have with them that would warrant such _illustrious_ attention."

"Fortune came upon a hawk's wings, as fate would have it," Karma said, perking up with a slightly straighter back and wider shoulders. "The Demacians are impressed with our stalwart resolve against Noxus."

A tremulous little shock went through Syndra's body, and though she should've hid it, she let it spring forth, an arcing little crackle of magic between her jeweled fingers. Karma stiffened at the display, a perfect disarming smile to her face.

"Our 'stalwart resolve'." Syndra echoed the words with a chuckle, but there was nothing funny to her grim sound. "Only afterward, of course, when we've _entertained_ the invaders. Only after I had to consecrate the names of twenty-seven villages—"

She sipped from her tea, seeking a relief in the calming drink, if only for one brief moment. With the cup empty, she gave a gentle flick of her hand, and a purple glow engulfed the thrown porcelain. It set neatly down in the tray with the rest of the set.

"And so, Karma, what do they want?"

"… I cannot say," the Duchess confessed, setting her chopsticks on her plate. "Demacia is far beyond even Noxus; it surely cannot be for trade."

"Your games humor me often, but not this time," Syndra cut in direly, her hands folding neatly into her lap. "I have yet to meet someone from Valoran who did not have a hand open next to the rice bowl in the other."

"The best outcome would be an ally against Noxus. The worst, a wolf sniffing after the other's kill while they still yet fight."

"And you would invite such a beast into my lands?"

Their eyes clashed in a pointed stare, vibrant purple crackling with power against a charming mahogany that belied its steeled edge.

"I wouldn't think to believe a wolf would eye two kills when ours is the more frightening one." Karma defended.

"In what dream does that come true?" Syndra's tilted her helmeted head. "It need only stalk and wait for both."

"Or risk losing everything, rather than the certain victory. What hunter would not take the free kill, especially one that is given to it?"

"Foolish is the woman who thinks a wolf a dealer of fair bargains," the sovereign warned direly. "The loss of one means only the second is easier."

"Then, do we not find ourselves at an impasse when the eyes of our wolf are so unknown to us? A mad gaze spells a certain fate differently than one who has been to many hunts."

There lay the crux of the matter, and one Syndra begrudgingly couldn't make a position on. She shut her eyes in thought, delving into the lightest of meditations, one that Karma joined her in. _It is hard enough keeping ourselves in line, and she thinks we can keep Demacia in check as well?_

It would be no secret to keep if the reason for Noxus' rampage came to light. She doubted even the Demacians could resist such temptation. The longer she sat on the thought, the more she doubted any nation of Valoran could.

Her eyes cracked open and Syndra looked to her palm, fingers crowned in those delicate jeweled claws she loved. Magic came so easily, bubbling right at the cusp of her reach, purring with the opportunity to be made real.

 _They cannot be trusted. So, can they be used?_

Sucking in a breath, the sovereign let out a long, suffering sigh.

"We will see, then, Duchess, which wolf answers the call."

"I could expect nothing else, my sovereign."

They concluded their quiet dinner with a single cup of sake, warming their spirits for the cold evening to come. Departing in silence, they sought their reprieve for the evening, and Syndra awaited tomorrow's trials with a grim expectation.


	3. Chapter 3

[~]

Simple details could always reveal the most telling truths. Not always the grandest ones, but enough to piece together the wider story. Syndra kept that lesson from her youth well in mind whenever she had to deal with stately affairs.

Tomorrow's early morning heralded the Demacians' arrival, but not the ones who would come with their crown prince. Rather, a group of highly skilled mages and their escort, under the guise of being traders, revealed themselves to the hosting Ionians. They, with their host's gracious assistance, would erect a stable gateway leading to the courtyards of Demacia's royal palace from the Placidium.

An elegant, if costly, method to ensure a safe transportation of valuable delegates.

Syndra gave her blessing after her own loyal mages set up, observing that the rituals and arcane rites proceeded smoothly. She, however, could not overlook how these Demacian soldiers arrived. Mundane travel from Ionia to Demacia was, at best, a two month journey by sea in _good_ weather.

 _A long time in coming, Karma,_ she mused, gazing out the window of the local room she was staying in. From here, she could see the blues and whites of the foreigners intermingle with Ionian red and purple, busy as workers could be. _And only now, at the eve of this visit, do I learn of her plan. Are my spies inept, or her game all the more cunning?_

One more discussion amongst many she'd have to entertain after everything.

Her attendants visited an hour before afternoon sun peaked, stating the Demacians were ready. Dressed in her polished armor and freshly prepared dress, Syndra left to the Horizon Gardens.

Built upon a plateau jutting just a bit out of the Placidium proper, the gardens were especially favored in the morning and evening twilights. Lunar blooms and day lilies were the only cultivated flowers here, aside from the usual shrubbery, the affectionately named 'Heavenly Flowers'. As the moon or sun waxed and waned, so did their respective flowers, and such was the harmony between Earth and Heaven.

 _Would they even understand why we let them build the portal here?_ she mused as the long stretch of a walkway came into sight. A tinge of doubt followed, but she willfully set it aside. _I will see, I suppose._

As far as her discerning eye could tell, the setup was perfect. A space had been cleared for the Demacian portal right around the center of the gardens. Small poles with Ionian and Demacian banners were erected, the walkways swept clean, and sitting arrangements made for the reception.

Rows of her subjects lined the primary walkway connecting the portal to the rest of the Placidium, from the crafts people to the land workers, all dressed in their greatest finery. Fitted vests weaved to show strength as much as beauty for the men, and the women, their dresses a tapestry, painted upon to show the verdant landscapes and fierce nature of Ionia.

"Min, is everything in place?" Syndra asked, her eyes sweeping past the dragon crest banners of Ionia to the scant few Demacian Sword ones at the portal. Not all of them had been fully setup yet.

"The Demacians are nearly ready to begin," the servant dutifully informed. "The Tranquil Inn has been cleared and cleaned, and there should be plenty of lodgings for the Crown Prince."

"And the guard?"

"We've moved everyone not relevant to the discussions, as per your instructions, to the lower mountain settlement. The Mu Guard are handling the—unusual, entrances. The Ionian Guard are handling the more mundane concerns."

Min's little trip up over her Mu never ceased to amuse Syndra every time it happened. "See to our guests' utmost comfort, Min. We do not long for extravagance, but I have heard they might."

"As you will, my sovereign."

It was at the stairs that led down to the plateau that she found her seating waiting. The jiao, ever reusable, had been moved to sit at the top and overlook the walkway during the procession. Karma, with her obstinate black-white robes, sat upon one of the advisor seats, already waiting.

Syndra's thin brow ticked at the sight.

With a practiced flourish, the sovereign fell upon the central throne, Min to her right, Karma to the left. The remaining attendants stood off to either side, waiting to be called upon. Syndra's glowing eyes inspected the long stretch between her and the portal, a trickling sense of pride arising.

The grand welcoming of Ionia laid bare to the sun-spotty sky, befitting of the guest they were to receive. A part of her wished for the cherry blossoms to be in season, carried away on a warm breeze for such a perfect occasion. That her Celestial Fortress took over the horizon, changing the very gardens into a grand view of her own masterful work, pleased her in ways she hadn't expected. With how secure it docked to the mountain range, one couldn't tell it was a floating island at all.

"I can think of nothing more to prepare, Duchess," Syndra said, idly inspecting both subjects and warriors alike. Those who noticed her gaze stood or sat just a little straighter.

"Nor can I, my sovereign," Karma remarked agreeably. She cast a look over to Min and smiled, the servant returning a far more guarded one in turn. "Thank you for all your help, Min. I'd worried over the feast somewhat."

"I do not want to disappoint, Duchess."

Karma nodded, casting her eyes forward. "If there are no objections?"

"Show me this, 'Crown Prince', then," Syndra commanded with a flourishing wave of her hand. Karma, shortly after, raised hers in a gesture to the Demacians, who mirrored it back.

They commenced with their ritual, a practiced approach of strict oration, gesture, and incantation. Magic came to their call, as it did with all the ones who learned to use it. Unlike all any art in Ionia she'd seen, the Demacian approach could only be called 'meticulous'.

Ephemeral magic flowed from the ether, drawn and driven by their design. In the cusp between worlds, before the mana could take shape, they ensnared it, driving its raw nature as water through an aqueduct. It flowed where they meant it to go, and the awing power was little more than just another fuel.

The art, if Syndra could call it that, was in how well they controlled it. She grimaced at the brutality of the approach as wild fluctuations snapped at the air with electric jolts of lightning before being leashed to a pillar. The ground groaned and buckled, heaving as if ready to erupt, just to still as the magic was drawn back inward again.

 _They are not a people who appreciate the life they strangle in their little ritual._

Syndra fought to keep her lip from curling distastefully as the tear in the world stabilized to an eerie, mirror-like finish. The land beyond peeked out through the gateway, a place of glimmering silver-whites and gray mountains. A rush of air blew through, washing over the Ionians and carrying a bitter cold harsher than any winter she knew.

The Demacians held up a hand in a questioning manner and Syndra looked to her loyal mages. They gestured that it was safe, and she had Min wave for the proceedings to carry on. A few Demacians slipped through the portal while the rest remained behind, watching over it.

"Are we not in winter, Duchess?"

"We are at the cusp, I believe."

"And somehow, this lands of theirs that I see is even colder."

"We're fortunate to be hosting on this side, I think."

A half-formed 'hah' died in Syndra's throat as she caught the laugh.

The minutes ticked away before she caught a glimmer of gold. A great many soldiers soon amassed on the portal's other side, some of them tentatively approaching. The liquid-like distortion wobbled as they passed through, and she found them markedly different than the other Demacians.

Clad head-to-toe in concealing iron armor, theirs shined with a silver-like polish, a fine filigree of gold swords and eagles adorning the edges of their armor and weapons. They stepped as if disoriented, but only for a moment, and each one quickly fell in place as they formed rows. One by one the Demacian soldiers created an impenetrable column, mighty spears in their hands, longswords sheathed at the hip, and shields upon their backs.

Syndra couldn't help think about the Yusho School and their formation marching as she watched. Every soldier to a point, each one a greater whole, the sum vast beyond any one part. She never liked the idea, but the execution was admirable to see, if nothing else.

Twenty of the soldiers formed their protective wall, eyes scanning the landing. A murmur broke out between them, words of a language she never heard passed in a hush. Seemingly satisfied, one of them near the portal raised their spear and tapped it on the ground three times before returning to formation.

 _They are certainly tall._ At least a half a head, if not more, than most of the Ionian guards near them.

The portal wobbled again, and a markedly different sort of man stepped through. Adorned in golden armor, his under suit a black leather, he stood even higher than all his soldiers. His mere presence prompted a single tap of all their spears, and they bowed their heads as this crowned man, his armor fashioned to vicious and frightening points, strode amongst them.

Two more would follow; another man much wider than he was tall, his rounded armor not that different from the other soldiers. One could mistake him for any other if he had worn a helmet to conceal his chiseled features. No respect was seemingly conferred to him, but he did walk behind the golden man rather than in formation.

As the third stepped in, however, Syndra's eyes squinted as she beheld her. That she was short itself was remarkable, considering her company, but the woman was adorned in a crimson flair so unlike the rest. A wide-horned helmet likened her to a ferocious person, but it was within that grim visage, she found a pair of golden eyes.

Golden eyes, set amongst blue skin.

The sovereign sat up, her senses prickling. There was something there that shouldn't have been, a magic hidden that tickled her to find it. Karma as well went more rigid, a disconcerting frown to her—altogether even more surprising than this mysterious woman.

 _Interesting._

She courteously waited for them to orient themselves, and the Demacians fell into a formation, their natural rhythm in the setup almost disturbing to watch. No shouts, no commands or even hand gestures, just a singular execution that put each one in their place.

One of her attendants, waiting dutifully off to the side, waved for one of the soldiers. He presented the Shuo Shé box, and after a quick inspection by the Demacian mages, it was handed off to the man in gold. With everyone putting their respective bracelets on, the attendant and the wide-set soldier spoke, and the attendant turned to the assembled Ionians.

"It is my honor to present to all here, and with reverence, to our sovereign, the heir apparent to the kingdom of Demacia, Crown Prince Jarvan Lightshield IV!" The attendant, with a flourishing wave of his silky robe toward the gold armored man, stepped aside.

Hands clapped, first as the river babbles in the brook, then to a thunderous rumble, their many eyes upon this strange foreigner who stood amongst them as a giant. Not a peep or holler followed, for such would be far too rude, and as their hands quieted down, they fell to the ground in a wave. Each and every Ionian, save the guard who kneeled, bowed to the ground, foreheads set upon their hands.

When all was quiet, Jarvan and his fellows looking on with curious newcomer gazes, a single clap arose in the silence. Their eyes turned to the far stairs, where Syndra awaited.

"Crown Prince Jarvan Lightshield IV," she greeted him, her loud voice resonant in spite of the open grounds around them. "I have heard much about you."

Jarvan, with his three-pronged helm fashioned as the swords his banners bore, bowed—but only part way. He stood and met her gaze head on, unflinching. "A flattering honor, but I confess, I have nothing to greet such a regal woman myself."

"Ease your heart then, and know that I am the Sovereign of Ionia, Syndra. All that you survey and your hands touch are under my protection and ever steadfast guidance."

"I shall entrust the lives of my soldiers and I to your generous care then, Sovereign Syndra."

With a clap of her hands, the Ionians rose from their bowing to a kneel with eager eyes. "On this day, I welcome you and yours into my home. Eat, drink, dance, and enjoy the gifts of our land as we pen the first days of our good relationship."

At the prompting of her attendant, the many Demacians started their trek down the walkway, each Ionian greeting them in their own unique ways. Waves, claps, smiles, small gestures and blessings; it seemed to concern or bewilder the Demacian soldiers more than anything. Syndra, Karma, and her surrounding attendants rose from the jiao. With her helpers carrying the platform away, she awaited at the top of the stares, getting her first real looks of these foreigners.

Aside from their great stature, their armor and weapons were markedly different. Smoother, as if forged from single pieces, rather than Ionia's favored method of overlapping different metals. It afforded them a more solid look, different from the sheer thickness Noxian armor was known to favor.

As the prince and his soldiers crowned the stairs, the lot of them looking around quite interestedly, Syndra gave them a courteous, hip-level wave. "I would say 'you must be tired', but teleportation magic is rather quick."

A smile cracked across Jarvan's chiseled, aristocratic face. "Ah, that it is. I will say that I myself am quite starved! The anticipation of what wonderful food there might be may have made me skip breakfast."

The helmetless man beside him chuckled. "I was wondering where you were! Ah, oops." He checked the Shuo Shé on his wrist, the jade jeweled bracelet glowing with its faint magic. "This is working, right? I understood her, but …"

"So long as it is worn, and the words are not too difficult, we will understand each other," Karma supplied helpfully from beside Syndra. "If you find yours suddenly not working, please come find me."

"I'll keep that in mind, lady …?"

With a curtsy, she said, "I am Karma, a Duchess of Ionia. I oversee many of our provinces when our sovereign cannot."

"A pleasure! I am Garen Crownguard." He stuck his hand out in offering. "Sworn to protect the crown, and protector of the just and weak."

The Ionians stared at his outstretched hand for a long minute, puzzled. Karma tentatively offers her in return, letting Garen engulf it in a slow handshake.

 _How distasteful,_ Syndra thought, looking down her nose at it. Her gaze slid over the two men to the quiet woman at the side. Now that she was closer, Syndra could see the fine details of her face—and how her skin was rough, bumpy and scaled.

That was not a human woman she was staring at.

"A curiosity strikes me, Prince … how is it that Demacians finish it?"

"Prince Jarvan is suitable, Lady Syndra."

"Prince Jarvan. I mean no offense, only mere curiosity, but …" Syndra waved her jeweled hand at the woman, her eyes flicking between the two. "Are all Demacian women of such a look?"

"Hm?" Jarvan rubbed his chin as he followed her gaze, and the woman let out a snorting laugh. Her voice was far from the velvet richness of the other two, rather close to a rasping hiss and deeper tone.

"There isn't any other like me in Demacia," she said with a prideful sneer.

"A gift, then? How exquisite it must be." Syndra gave her a small, closed lip smile, her suspicion it would unnerve the woman all too correct.

"Ah! My manners. I find myself distracted by these wonderful sights." Jarvan shook his head with a laugh, his arm sweeping to the man beside him. "Garen Crownguard, as already said, leader of the Dauntless Vanguard, our shining light that strikes against Noxus."

His arm went to the otherside. "Shyvana, Captain of the Royal Guard and the fiercest dragon to grace any of the lands in Demacia."

Syndra, Karma, and all the nearby Ionian servants and guard jolted on the spot, their collective gazes falling upon Shyvana, who looked increasingly uncomfortable.

"Duchess?" The sovereign drew out slowly, her head tilting to Karma with a piercing gaze upon her.

"Forgive our surprise, Prince Jarvan," Karma said with an appeasing smile and wave of her hands. "When you say 'dragon', do you mean the great ones of the sky and earth? Vast wings, and breaths of magic nothing else has?"

"I would say so, yes."

"… Then you do us a greater honor than I can think the words to say."

While Karma and the others gave a standing bow, bewildering their guests, Syndra did not, her glowing gaze fixated on the dragon woman. She heard the words, and indeed, understood them, but that such a thing was happening at all left her beside herself.

 _A living dragon in my very court,_ she marveled. _Unbelievable._

"I don't understand a thing you people mean by this," Shyvana remarked, arms folded across her platemail-covered chest. "So what?"

Syndra clapped her hands and the Ionians rose again. They went back to work, but many kept stealing glances where they could. "A story, one of many, to be told. Come, the day is good for an outdoor feast! We need not keep ourselves here."

With her ushering, and some help from Karma who helped the nameless soldiers get into gear, Syndra led the way up the grand thoroughfare. One monastery and its idyllic temple still maintained would serve her purposes for the first meeting.

And yet, for as much as she knew the game of nations was afoot with Jarvan, her mind wandered to the blue skinned woman again.

 _A real dragon?_


	4. Chapter 4

[~]

The Tehciko monastery was, at least in the past, a place of active contemplation. Wide sweeping courtyards surrounded the only building, a doorless temple with a tatami flooring, ideal for the free movement of its practitioners. Old trees, carefully tended to over the years, grew high and over the monastery, and through the monks' careful efforts, wove a protective canopy from the elements.

On this day, and perhaps the next few as well, Min's dutiful efforts turned this quiet place into a venerable gathering place. Hanging lanterns, their mana crystals sparkling dimly as they charged for the evening, lined the canopy in clean cut rows. A variety of stalls, from wooden carts to shop stands that one sat at, dotted the grounds, their workers boisterously waving and calling out their wares.

"Min," Syndra called out and the servant came scuttling over from the sideline. She stared at the great wooden pillars, another spanning the top where the monastery's wandering bird crest was embedded. "Where are the monks?"

"They've absconded to visit the farmlands below, my lady," Min informed, staring at the ground.

"Truly? They did not have to."

"With all the noise and people, they did not feel their work would be at place here."

The sovereign's head tilted for a moment and she made her way onward. "Give them two barrels of rice and ten silver drakes per head when we are done."

"As you will."

 _I am surprised they were this generous,_ Syndra mused at how thoroughly overtaken their holy grounds were. Nothing untoward would happen to it, she would make certain, but a home was a home, and she had not met many who would so willingly remove themselves.

"I say, what is _that?_ " Garen's loud voice punctuated the growing murmur surrounding them. All their heads turned to follow his gaze to a small set stand of three shirtless performers near a tree, their faces concealed by masks. Two bore the terrifying expressions of the daytime Yaomo, while the third stood as the Farmer, his trusty hoe and scythe in hand.

"Ah, how wonderful," Karma said with a smile, hands clasped to her front. "I hadn't expected to see this here. The others are here as well!" Smaller sets, larger, some even without any, the actors performing on just the bricked ground, they interwove with the shop stands. The Demacians, ever curious, found themselves constantly looking around at the colorful and exaggerated displays.

"A play without a theater?" Garen speculated aloud, a few of the soldiers around him nodding in agreement.

"Somewhat. Many of Ionia's stories are told through these performances, only the grandest ones are reserved for the stage. You could hardly go to any province and find the same play done twice, even if it is the same story."

"How's it the same story if it's always different?" Shyvana scoffed.

Syndra couldn't resist the opening. "The pieces are the same."

"What?"

"Take this, the two Yaomo are rumbustious brothers—" Her jeweled hand waved to the performance Garen was still watching as they walked. "—and their eyes are set on a local farmer. What they want for differs: his wine, daughters, sons, food, it depends. At the end, the farmer fights them away. Sometimes he dies, other times he makes peace and offers a gift to them."

"Why would he give a gift to demons?" Jarvan cut in with palpable curiosity.

"By demons, you would mean evil spirits and those who hurt the living?" Karma clarified when Syndra gave her a sidelong glance.

"Yes."

"I've heard those in Valoran see spirits differently than we do," Karma said, more to herself. "You might say spirits are as varied as people. There are good and bad ones, and those merely going about their business."

"You would say these 'Yaomo' attacking a farmer are not bad natured?"

"I would say the Yaomo are not bad, as a people, but those two might be depending on the story."

With a little prompting, they finally moved on, Karma and Jarvan discussing the finer points of the story. Garen interjected so often, and the rest looked quite lost about the affair, much to Syndra's amusement.

On the steps of the temple, Min's preparations for their lunch time affair were awaiting in earnest. Neat, rounded tables laid scattered around, comfortable floor seats waiting with them. A thin, transparent cloth stretched between a set of poles, shielding the area from pests. Syndra's attendants hurried ahead, pulling open the curtain for the group.

"… and so, I'd say, if you were on a simple journey, you'd find quite a lot to meet yourself," Karma finished her point, much to Jarvan's humming contemplation.

"It is certainly curious, but, what is this?" He held up his hands with a dashing grin.

"Everyone? Please, everyone!" Min called out from the front, drawing the group's attention. "Please, sit where you will. For our guests, if you find any food distasteful, or wonder if we have something, raise your hand, and I will attend you."

At Jarvan's signal, the soldiers dispersed from their semi-orderly ranks, drifting off into their own groups and tables. Syndra had long left them to their devices, seeking out the grander table set just below the temple's steps. There, she sat herself with folded legs at the head, waiting for the rest. Karma took the left side of Syndra, and with some gesturing from her, Jarvan, Garen, and Shyvana joined them.

Or, rather, it involved Jarvan and Garen awkwardly sitting cross-legged, while Shyvana just sat down.

"I wasn't—hngh—expecting to do this today," Garen remarked, sounding rather jovial about his comical attempt to sit in plate armor. His legs didn't have a full range of motion, which left him sitting much like Shyvana was in an open-but-not cross-legged manner.

Syndra had to bite her tongue to stop from laughing. "That armor seems impractical to sit in."

"Normally there's chairs, but I haven't seen a single one here yet."

"When you say chair …" Karma supplied helpfully. A few descriptions back and forth later, she said, "Ah, we have stools of such a description, but I fear they'd break under a full set of armor."

"Have no fear! I will make do."

They all settled in reasonably enough otherwise and a few attendants, with their flowing sleeves and flashy pants, came by. Small ceramic plates were laid out before them, a small cup of reddish tea and a bowl of yellow soup on each. Curious eyes drifted to the foreigners, many more lingered on Shyvana, but the attendants left as quickly as they came.

"It is customary to cleanse the mouth before meals," Syndra explained, enjoying their captive attention. "You may find it plain, if a little sharp, in taste. Either the tea or soup, both if you like them."

"Why the two?" Jarvan inquired, sniffing at the bowl.

"Two different styles—" Syndra glanced at Karma from the corner of her eye, "—the tea is the southern, and the soup the north."

Quiet sipping followed, and Syndra indulged in a long drink of the soup. Warm in flavor yet dry, tempting one for more and more. Much better than the tangy biting tea, as far as she was concerned. To her slightest disappointment, the dragon didn't seem to share such an inclination.

Jarvan hummed as he set the bowl down. "Ah, tasteful. I'm even more curious now, though. There is a distinct difference in north and south Ionia?"

Syndra's gaze flicked over to the crown prince. "Yes, but not as sharp as one might imagine. I am from the north, for instance. Karma here hails from the south."

Chuckling, Jarvan rubbed his chin. "Now even more questions come to mind. But, I don't want to bore with my ceaseless interest."

"That is why you are here, is it not? Truthfully, I enjoy the new look upon my country. It is … refreshing."

He was a courteous guest, at the least. The look in his eyes was far too sharp for the act he was playing, but Syndra would indulge the fun for the time being.

"Very good! By the sounds of it, your country is quite large? I … Garen, how would we measure it, exactly?"

The bulky shouldered man frowned, seemingly as stumped. "I'm not sure, Prince Jarvan, I doubt measurements translate so well."

"That," the quiet Karma spoke up, "I may know the answer to. I've seen some maps from Noxian soldiers we've captured. If you think of the distance between Demacia and Noxus, it would be about four times that to walk all of Ionia."

The Demacians' brows collectively shot up, Jarvan's the highest of all. "That is quite a lot of land."

"One of many reasons for the invaders' ever dire interest in my country."

The jovial mood waned a little at Syndra's remark, quiet replacing the eager exchange. In the interim, attendants swept in, keen on the opening to whisk away the used plates.

"Yes, that is concerning," Jarvan agreed with a nod. "But, I can only begin to imagine the folly of the Noxians for daring to tread on your soil."

"One they are taught every day with the harshest of lessons." Syndra's painted lips peeled in a small, vicious smile. "Let us save such conversation for later. Today, I would prefer you see some of the best Ionia has to offer."

"And what would that be?" Shyvana returned, seemingly bored.

While others cast looks toward the dragon, Syndra willfully suspended her annoyance. "Food, drink, dance, and … was it tonight or tomorrow for the theater, Duchess?"

"Tonight, my sovereign."

Such promises, customary she was sure even in Valoran, only served to disinterest the dragon further. For what could entertain such an awesome being? Syndra hadn't the faintest clue, legends and stories only conferred so much.

 _How vexing._

The attendants swept in again, more of them now filling in from the makeshift cookeries not too far away. Plates of meat, vegetables, soups, noodles and more adorned their hands, all eager to find tables. Each one swept by, sliding and positioning the plates in a practiced form that evenly dispersed the food. In a few short minutes, they were done, and an array of food fit for twenty laid out before the five of them.

Min hurriedly arrived beside Syndra, bearing a small rectangular holder in her hands. She presented the container and its neatly enclosed chopsticks, four pairs in total, all exquisitely designed. A flicker of indecision struck the sovereign as she debated which, but her eyes fell upon a pair of jade carved ones. The faintest impression of dragons arose from them, shaped as if they were crawling out of the very jade itself.

She couldn't resist the choice now that she'd seen it, and plucked them out. As Min bowed away, scuttling off to her other duties once more, Syndra caught Shyvana eying her. Rather, it seemed the dragon was quite keenly looking at her chopsticks. _Hm? What is this? Interested?_

Syndra rotated her wrist, recalling an old trick from her family's dinner table. She flexed her fingers, and with a certain purpose, starting flipping the chopsticks through them. She worked them across her hand, then over it and into her palm. Not once did the untwined pair fall out, and it landed smoothly in the crook between her thumb and forefinger.

The dragon's bemused expression was altogether worth it.

"Hmm, are these sticks? I see a fork and knife, but what are these for?" Garen asked, holding the chopsticks in his hands.

Karma raised and demonstrated with her own porcelain set. "A traditional Ionian way, like so." She pinched and opened, demonstrating the basic motion for grasping something. Garen tried to emulate her, but between his large hands and the gloves, the chopsticks fumbled right out.

"Truly mysterious … I'm thankful for the fork! I'd go hungry otherwise."

Syndra waved her hand to the generous feast before everyone. "Not so long as you are my guest. All of you, enjoy this meal! Do not frighten if you find some dishes disagree with others, we strive for variety."

The Demacians curtsied in their own, hand-across-the-chest way, Karma said a small prayer of thanks, and everyone began. Plates were grabbed, slid, passed, and for the first time in her life, Syndra had to endure the mannerisms of another nation.

 _T-they are using their eating forks to get food …_

Suppressing a cringe, she unfurled her free hand and opened her palm to one untouched tray of meat and noodles. The air around the porcelain warped, the faint electrical glow of her dark purple magic engulfing it, and the tray lifted into the air. Three pairs of eyes of keenly snapped to it, watching as Syndra daintily prepared her own meal.

"Oho, you're a mage, Lady Syndra?" Jarvan's question came as he shifted one tray over to Garen's waiting hands.

"That would be a _small_ word for what I am."

"What word would you use?" Shyvana cut in, her own plate nothing but different meats. Twice as high as her fellows' own efforts, at least.

"None the Shuo Shé could hope to convey," Syndra returned with a thin smile and sent the floating plate back to the table.

They withdrew a bit at her look, but Jarvan's gaze held that unflinching edge all the while. A strip of juicy meat, with a bit of an eastern peppery flavoring on it, graced her before his inevitable question came.

"Magic is common here in Ionia? I admit to not seeing much of it …"

"As much as the air you breathe." A few attendants arrived with more trays, these ones containing drinks of juice and wine, as Syndra talked. "Those who can work with such a gift are rarer, but you could go nowhere in Ionia without seeing it."

The first crack in that perfect facade of his showed, and Syndra leapt for the opportunity. "You appear ill at ease, Prince Jarvan."

"I confess," he said with a shrug. "Such an idea is unsettlingly new to me. Demacia has not had comfortable dealings with magic in the past."

"If half of what I hear of Valoran is true, I am not surprised. You will find we Ionians have a much better grasp on the matter."

He nodded as he diverted into sampling the food.

"That explain why I smell so much of it," the dragon grumbled between bites, half it slurred by meat.

"You can smell magic?" Karma got in before Syndra could beat her to it.

Shyvana grunted affirmatively, struggling with a particularly stringy piece of meat. Though cut to thin strips, that particular variety was a common way for Ionia to prepare steak. Juicy, flavorful, and receptive to all sorts of spices.

It was hard to tell if her voracious manner of eating was out of enjoyment or habit.

Syndra and Karma sat there, both equally disturbed by the display. _Dragons are … passionate, eaters?_

"Yeah," Shyvana grunted out through a mouthful. "Smell's not quite right, but it's close." A disgusting swallow followed, and a satisfied grin spread across her face. "Good meat. Thin, but tastier than most steak I've had."

"That is thin?" Karma sounded a touch skeptical, and Shyvana held up a pair of pinched fingers two inches apart.

"'bout that thick, at least, for a good Demacian cut."

Garen slapped his knee at the Duchess' dubious face, a hearty laugh escaping. "We should bring some next time, Shyvana! The good Duchess seems disbelieving."

"Not so much disbelief as concern for my chopsticks."

The sovereign found herself sharing a degree of exasperation with Prince Jarvan, and the two gave each other the slightest nod. What could be said for conversation was that it descended into enjoyable small talk, a gulf of cultures crossed by eager and pleasant minds. Though she ultimately found most of the details dull, Syndra nonetheless found an inkling of enjoyment. The Demacians approached their questions with an aggressively curious flair, not yet rude, but pointed.

If nothing else came of this game of nations, she'd at least satisfy her curiosity with the dragon by the end.


	5. Chapter 5

[~]

For what could be said of yesterday was still up in the air as far as Syndra was concerned. Prince Jarvan and his entourage seemed regaled by food and drink, but as the matters shifted to other icons of Ionian culture, they became reserved. Not judgmental, but not the _greatly_ invested interest she'd half expected to see.

It was harder still for her to figure out if that was simply how they were, or an indication of their own greater disinterest. 'Guarded' would be the word that came to mind the most the longer she thought on the matter. Begrudgingly, she had entrusted today's business with them to Karma's oversight.

The Duchess saw fit to lead them on a more extensive tour and cultural lesson in the Placidium. In that, she could be trusted to be an informative host of her own colored little view of the world. An inkling of concern had crossed Syndra's mind at the Duchess' capably elegant way of lying.

Yet, on the other hand, she saw it easy enough to undo. The word of one provincial leader certainly would not stack up to the weight of Ionia's highest authority, after all. If she pieced together their country correctly, the King of Demacia ruled over all, then his son and advisors. They'd seemingly defer to her, then, if that was how they lived.

It got blurry past that, as the 'Royal Houses' appeared to sub-divide the court. How or why simple families, ones she could count with just one hand, ruled over so many people reeked of insanity. No qualifications except birth, and while good bloodlines were worth something, they weren't worth that much.

Syndra raised her fingers to her temples, rubbing with her knuckles as she walked in the garden. The mere notion gave her a headache to imagine, let alone believe it a real way of leadership. _All these years and they have not had one terrible royal?_ she wondered, only to scoff. _Impossible. There must be something else to it they have not said._

Whether it was a change through violence or law would be a question for later.

The sovereign clasped her hands together at her front, resuming her walk. Cool, lush grass graced her naked feet, refreshing from all the ungainly stone. This was one of the few gardens in the Placidium she enjoyed, emphasizing a more natural, some would say 'rural', sense. Rocks and boulders formed retainer walls while the loosest of cobblestone led one through the groves of willow trees.

A few of the winter flowers peeked out, sneaking up where their fellows had long gone to slumber. Trickles of blue mana coursed in their petals, the ever tempting bait for the reclusive insects that sought such. Mid-afternoon was a terrible time to find any, but she wagered it would be worth visiting again in the evening.

Amidst her calming walk, the fabric of magic shifted around her. Subtle, passing even, one would miss it if they were unfamiliar with auras. Her head turned to the side, one of the Mu standing there, passionless eyes boring into her.

"Fire and scale tread where water sleeps," his not-there voice said, disassociated from his head. "Do you wish for her?"

Syndra's dark brows creased and she waved a hand permissively. The Mu bowed as she looked away and the fabric pulled away from her. _The dragon seeks_ me?

Surely not, for gold was easier to come by than those who sought her out. And yet, a touch of excitement arose at the prospect. Syndra awaited in the grass, the bubbling fire of the dragon's presence looming in. It stood apart from the others now that their jumbled auras weren't clouding the air.

The closest that came to mind was a volcano in the eastern lands. She hadn't thought much of it until her fortress passed over and the great maw of lava stared back at her. Waiting in its torpor, the great power within bubbling beneath the earth.

Flaring red crimson with gold trimmings strode in from a side path, the fanciful colors harsh against the calm greenery. The dragon's head rotated from one side to the next, finally finding her with that inhuman, slitted stare.

Gold may shine, but not even the purest ingot Syndra had seen might match those eyes of hers.

"The dragon Shyvana," the sovereign greeted, staring coolly back. "What brings you to me?"

That horned-helmet clad head tilted, regarding her in a way so much like a cat. Predatory, intent, curious, but guarded. Oddities she'd never thought appropriate to someone so human-like.

"I have questions," she said simply. "I hope you answer better than that Duchess."

Her sheer indignity tickled Syndra. She spread her hands open, an inviting move to any layman's eye. "You stand before the Sovereign of all Ionia to ask her … questions?" It took effort to not bend over with laughter, but nonetheless she folded her hands behind her back properly. "The audacity alone merits attention. Come along."

She could stand to do another loop of the gardens with such prestigious company. Heavy footsteps, a mix of boot and clinking armor, sounded, and that volcanic presence crawled alongside her. More than an aura reached her senses, for it seemed the dragon woman radiated a veritable heat all of her own.

In its own annoying way, it just reminded her of how cold the day was.

"I see dragons on every banner, street corner, shirt, even your damn 'chopsticks'. Why?" Shyvana asked, her strength of voice just short of a demand. "Everyone I see stares at me in awe, and most don't even know what I am."

 _Demacians are certainly forthright people._ Syndra fingers clicked together absently. "Respect, reverence, to embolden ourselves with power and good fortune—"

"No, that's what the other one said. What's the real reason?"

Syndra's eye ticked at being interrupted and she glared pointedly over her shoulder. "You ask for a story whose meaning may not come across at all. But, fine, I will humor it once."

Flourishing her hands, Syndra's sheer will compelled the magic around them, and the air distorted. She waved her hand as a painter would their brush, and wispy phantasms came into being. The elements of the world swirled around, a tinge of purple to the fanciful imagery.

"Before the world as you and I know it could be, there was only the elements. What we now call earth, fire, air, and water, existed apart." In separate strands, the pseudo-elements aimlessly swam in the air as wandering fish would. Then, they coalesced, and soon began to intertwine at Syndra's command. "It is said one dragon, ill-content with this, conspired to weave them together. Was it the earth who desired the air, or the water that longed for the fire? No one can say, but in this heartfelt ambition, the others followed."

Gathering into a harmless sphere, the different colors swirled and mixed, dancing before their eyes. "From Heaven they descended, and the world was born in their wake. The dragons shaped all, a grand tapestry from which we mortals would soon find ourselves."

With a curl of her fingers, the head-sized orb drifted into her waiting palm, pulsing with the tiny magic infused in it. She turned and held it out to the quiet Shyvana, waiting.

"The dragons' children would remain as they left to the Heavens again, as mortal as you or I, but wiser beyond words. When we took our first steps, stumbling and falling, they were there to teach us."

The hesitance in Shyvana's hands belied her curious gaze as she took the orb and inspected it at arm's length.

"I cannot say how it is in Valoran. Such a land scarcely seems to know what peace is, let alone anything else. Here, in Ionia, we remember what the dragons did for us. They showed us the roads of fate and the choice for which one we would go down. Many of them have left now, and more still may forget, but not us."

A small tug of the mind and the orb disintegrated, the ethereal magic bleeding away in wispy trails. Shyvana blinked in surprise, a half frowning gaze turning toward her. "That can't be everything. You talk like one never did any wrong or hurt your people."

"You speak as if one _should have_ ," Syndra airily remarked, one brow smoothly arched. "There are those as well, but they too taught us a lesson. A soul is judged by what they do, not what they are."

Of all things, a sardonic chuckle wasn't one she expected. The sovereign frowned as she stood there, wondering what reason such a dark sound would come from Shyvana.

"That's a good one, I've heard it before."

"Your unkind tone does not lend to a warm feeling."

"People always say stuff like that." Shyvana grinned more openly, and only now did Syndra see how her canines were a good deal larger. "But the second they see someone different, it's all pitchforks and swords everywhere you go."

The dragon walked ahead, arms stretched behind her head. "You and your people seem to think highly of dragons, but I don't think any of you know what a real one is like."

"And what would make you say this?"

"Because—" Shyvana turned slightly, those predatory eyes sharp upon her, "—there ain't a single good thing about them."

Not accusatory, nor flamboyant or forceful. What stood out to Syndra the most was that _confidence,_ that singular infallible belief as if nothing could prove it wrong. The mere notion raked her nerves, and an anger arose the likes of which she hadn't dreamed to entertain a long while. "And you would say this, standing before me, not one good thing from a person like you?"

Shyvana's scaly brow creased.

"Am I to believe that the Crown Prince of Demacia entertains the company of an awful creature, to which there is nothing to redeem?" Syndra's glowing eyes narrowed as she stared down Shyvana. "For truly, he must be a terrible person as well, or one with a penchant for collaring rabid animals."

The very air around the dragon twisted, that insufferable smugness gone beneath a scowl and twitching lip. No longer did she stand as if lounging, but rather to lunge, her clawed fingers twitching. Syndra could feel the discomfort of her Mu guard already, but she refrained.

They weren't needed for someone like this.

" _He,_ " Shyvana said with the hint of a hiss, "is a good man, and a better one than any I've ever met."

"You say one thing, then spit out another. What is truth, and what is lie, dragon Shyvana?"

A sickly smile etched its way across her scaled face. "Half."

"Half … what?" There was that laugh again, the one Syndra was quickly beginning to despise.

"Why do you think I look so much like a human? Surely even your myths know what a dragon's true form is."

 _What mad game does she play?_ "They are as varied as the lands, and we are not unfamiliar with their ways of taking other forms."

"Oh, they take those to hide in. Me? No dragon would be caught dead looking like me." When Syndra didn't answer, Shyvana spread her arms open in a far more challenging posture. "People like talking about noble ideas, but when you're a foot in either world, you see what they're really like. You and yours? You think so highly, but it's just stupid."

 _She speaks of it like it is a …_

An inkling of understanding prodded at Syndra in the form of an old, unexpected truth. She stood up straighter, regarding this dragon woman before her as she would any of her own subjects. The lands and people were different, but the story behind it, if she understood so well, was the same.

The same story she'd seen dozens of times, first hand.

And in that, she had a killing blow.

"You have met life with a terrible fortune, have you not?" Syndra contorted her face into an easy smile. "I cannot imagine why anyone would cling to such awful beliefs otherwise."

There it was, that face caught between confusion and sheer anger; the brow tilted at funny angles, the lips twitching for a snarl yet to form.

"Perhaps in your lands they may true, but …" The sovereign inclined her head to the side and walked on. Heavy footsteps quickly followed as she brought them to a ledge. The white-wood guard rail offered a rest for her hands as she gazed out to the rest of the Placidium and all its many, many different levels. "Not here, not to us."

She swept her arm in a grand, encompassing wave. "You call them fools, and yet I scarcely think of few who would not give you a home for the night, or food for the journey. More would welcome strong arms to work and an honest heart to confide in."

Turning halfway toward Shyvana, the sovereign went on. "There are more still who would willingly _ask_ for you to hold their babes in those hands you hate."

A flicker of surprise, drowned by suspicion, passed in those golden eyes.

"People fear what they cannot understand, that much is true. Even we are bound by such an idea, but we live in recognition of it. The question that begs the mind would be, 'what have you done to answer it'?"

"So what? You would tell me Ionia is some perfect land where nothing wrong happens?" Shyvana scoffed.

"Send your ill wind elsewhere." Syndra waved her hand across her face, fanning the air. "We are not free of our own problems, but were you to ask me, I would not expect for one like you to be struck down on the spot."

The dragon's arms folded across her plate armor chest, seemingly still vastly unimpressed. For what she would not speak or show, however, Syndra could discern from her aura. A volcano asleep remained, even if the earth rumbled beneath her feet.

"And what would you expect, exactly? _Sovereign_ Syndra?"

Would it not defeat her own point, she would have reprimanded that tone. Such an insufferably disrespectful woman was proving to be strenuous on her tolerance already. Turning toward her in proper, Syndra folded her arms behind her back, the politest smile without the eyes to match on her face.

"Despite your bumbling tongue, you are a child of the Heavens and Earth. I … you would say your dragon sire loved your human one, yes?"

Snorting a laugh, Shyvana stared at the ground while shaking her head, though not in disagreement. "He did, like a damn fool."

"It is good, then, to at least be a fool at one with their heart, than not. The gift of his blood, and that of the woman who carried it to give _you_ life, is not something anyone can change or take away."

The dragon's head tilted up just enough one eye could peek out from the rim of her helmet.

"What you do will be what is written. I have seen many, many gifted people in my life, some buried under the weight of the world itself. Be what it is you find in Valoran or elsewhere, but do not think all the world will cast you out."

Satisfied with the dragon's quiet, she cast her attention back upon the Placidium. "I believe that answers your question, does it not, _Shyvana_?"

"Yeah. It does."

A rustle in the grass followed by a receding heat, and she knew the woman was leaving. Before she could leave entirely, Syndra called out.

"Should you find yourself in Ionia, after all this, I give you the luxury of finding me. There is more here than you might believe there would be for you."

Some sort of affirmative grunt, not really a yes or a no, answered, and Shyvana was gone.

Alone again in the gardens, Syndra found herself enjoying the cool air as it returned. It settled the nerves and bled away her agitation with its welcome reprieve. A long, suffering sigh deflated her as she stared aimlessly out.

 _I had expected such a grand meeting to be more … grand. Are dragons so ordinary like any other person, or just her?_

Another vexing prospect the Demacians have given her.


	6. Chapter 6

[~]

"Haha! Now that play last night, that was something," Garen commented, doing an awkward stretch in his armor. "I say, that stage performance was simply _incredible_. Demacians prefer, hmm, how would I say? 'Restrained', plays. The use of colors alone was unlike anything I'd seen!"

"It's pleasing to hear that, sir Garen," Karma returned, smiling easily. "I can think of a few plays that might be more to your taste, if you prefer?"

"Perhaps! I'm certainly enjoying the Ionian take on the theater."

The air was jovial, and it would seem some of the Demacians' aloofness had vanished. Syndra wasn't at all convinced it wasn't an act, but at least it made the journey pleasant. She hovered alongside Jarvan, the two of them ahead of the wider group as they ventured to a secluded platform.

Normally nothing more than a turning point in one of the many mountainous stairs leading to the Placidium, it now sat as a docking port of sorts. The land of her floating fortress seamlessly merged with it, giving all the appearance as though they were one whole. It was here she had her attendants build a small set of stands to sit in, and it was here they had prepared many crates.

Jarvan, silent as he seemed to prefer, gave her a look that told more than words might have. She found it odd how much he always felt like he knew what was going on, for the man had an air of being impossible to surprise. It almost made her smile at what she had planned for the day.

"Hnn, what's all this?" Shyvana growled from the guard group, irritable. All their attention went to the area ahead, Syndra's attendants and warriors waiting in neat rows. The Demacian soldiers all quieted down at the sight and pulled into their own ranks without a word.

"The business of countries is at hand. Though I would like for my guests to have more time, it is something I am ever lacking," Syndra said.

"As we all are. What is on your mind, Sovereign Syndra?" Jarvan asked.

"I cannot imagine you are unfamiliar with war against Noxus, nor their methods. I hope you might educate me with one valuable piece of information in what I will show to you."

"And what would that be?"

"In no uncertain terms, 'how cruel Noxians can be'."

"I can scarce imagine the use of such a hateful topic."

"Hateful?" Her lips peeled into a dark smile. "You speak as if that word is something simple, Prince Jarvan."

Syndra paid no mind to Jarvan's contemplative frown as they headed down the steps to the platform. The awaiting Min guided their group to the stands, where enough space for Jarvan, Syndra, and Karma awaited. The rest stood off on either side, tall and proud. The Duchess' normally pleasant demeanor grimaced into one of utter discomfort.

 _You know, don't you?_ the sovereign mused, staring at the woman's back from her higher seating. Directing her gaze to the stone brick-laid field before them, she raised her hand halfway. The attendants at the other end nodded, then set about opening the sealed crates.

"Tell me, Prince Jarvan," Syndra said, hands neatly folded in her lap. "A warrior takes years to learn their craft, shaped by the land they come from. Mages are much the same in this regard. In this, I think you have a familiarity with Noxus?"

"There isn't a single Lightshield who hasn't crossed blades with them, Sovereign Syndra."

"Good."

From the crates came a pig, plump and hearty enough to feed a family of five. As one attendant set about tying it up to a post in the field, another equipped a strange sort of backpack. Black steel fashioned into pipes and strange moving parts, an even blacker greasy oil oozing from them, veins of a sickly green liquid flowing throughout it.

The backpack wearing attendant seemed all too disgusted wearing the thing, but he walked to the open field, forty paces from the pig. A nozzle from one side hung to the ground and he picked it up, hands fastened to a grip and lever.

"Imagine for a moment fighting a, aha, warrior, who doesn't need that training. Let us say, a farmer who has never even seen a sword in his whole life. What happens, exactly, when that farmer is handed the power of a terrible mage?"

She found his eyes locked upon the device with an intensity greater than any she'd seen thus far. Syndra almost smiled as she held her hand up again, and the attendant began.

Pulling and pushing the handlebar lever, it took him a solid minute, but the sloshing fluid in his backpack brightened. Bubbles of glass, filled with a vicious and sickeningly green liquid sloshed around, almost _eager_ to escape. He turned the nozzle pipe upon the pig, and with a frightful grimace, opened it.

Sheer pressure kicked him back and he instinctively shut it as fast he opened it, but a glob of the green glowing liquid went sailing through the air. It splashed across the pig's back half, and a curdling scream worse than sheer terror tore out of the beast's tiny maw. In an instant it bolted in a direction, the post bowing over at its frantic effort to escape its demise.

By the time the acid reached its lungs, and all that was left was the harrowing echoes, it fell to the ground, still trying to run with its two good front legs. Though there were no screams, the thump and thud of its twitching carcass was loud enough.

"I doubt it, but, do you know what Noxian soldiers like to call my people, Prince Jarvan?" Syndra asked.

"I do not," he answered, sitting ramrod straight, the very muscles in his face clenched tight. Were he to hold his breath, one might find him an immaculately built statue.

"Pigs, of course," Syndra informed him as one would discuss kinds of tea. "They like to call us pigs, fat and plump because we don't fight back. It seems, to the Noxian mind, anyone who doesn't resist is just another animal."

While she spoke, more attendants came out, carrying buckets of dirt and unrefined salt. They covered up the goop and the half-dissolved pig, their faces shrouded with cloths.

"We Ionians abhor war in all its forms. We are not free of it, but you would be hard pressed to find one easily here." Satisfied that it was cleaned up enough, she gestured for them proceed, and another crate was opened. "And so, the Noxians came in their black ships, and their soldiers marched on. The villages who surrendered often found the ones wearing those, 'acid throwers', visiting after the others had passed."

"By all that is just in the world," Garen remarked, the very first sound of horror she'd ever heard from the bulky man. "Surely that … I cannot believe my eyes!"

Karma, a hand over her mouth, turned to look at him from the corner of her eye. "What would you call a nightmare, sir Garen, when your eyes are already open, and the sun is overhead?"

"… How many?" Jarvan's solemn voice cut in, his elbows upon his knees, his head upon his hands. He did not balk, but Syndra did not see joviality in him anymore.

"Around every hundred swords we find one of these. Most simply stop working, but a few still do when we capture them."

The attendants fashioned two makeshift armor stands where the pig had been originally, one bearing Ionian armor, the other Noxian. As soon as they cleared the area, Syndra struck her hand again, and the acid thrower fired once more. More controlled globs splattered against both sets, the voracious spittle eating through both. The plate mail of the Ionian armor faltered first before the incredibly thick Noxian heavy armor gave in a minute later.

"At a glance, I would wager your armor is somewhere between the two out there in how protective it might be," Syndra speculated aloud, much to the soldiers' grimacing. "This would be one of the more common weapons we've managed to keep working."

"What are the others like?" Jarvan asked.

"It would take days to describe them enough. One of the other common ones is a type of smoke. It is hard to see, but even the slightest whiff is enough to drop a man. The few who manage to get up wish they had not."

"And this … smoke, is also used on your villages?"

"It, and others. They are almost inconsistent in that regard, not unlike a swordsmith striking stone to test a blade."

Jarvan vaulted upward with such a speed it made Syndra recoil. The prince turned and left the stand, his steps measured to an inhumanly precise degree.

"Ah, forgive us, lady Syndra," Garen apologized quickly and hurried after, all the other Demacians joining him. They stalked away from the platform, leaving Syndra and Karma to themselves.

"… I had not expected that," the sovereign admitted. "He did not strike me as a squeamish man."

"It is not that, sovereign," Karma said, her gaze lingering where Jarvan sat moments earlier. She turned slowly to where the pig was buried in the dirt and salt. "Even a mountain can crash upon the land in anger."

Drawing herself up and neatly smoothing out her dress, Syndra gave the testing field one last regard. She gestured for them to clean up, and the attendants set to their task as quickly as they always did. Karma followed her off the platform, their gazes settling on the Demacians farther ahead.

Syndra smiled at the sight, but there was no joy in her eyes. "I would find such a thing quite funny," she remarked, glancing at the duchess from the corner of her eye. "How can a mountain hope to compare to me, Karma?"

The question hung in the air, Karma's own stoic face laced with a grim touch. Without waiting a moment longer, Syndra started her own way back to the Placidium, waiting attendants shuffling toward her.

"Let the Demacians drink their sip of this little truth, Duchess. Fill their cup more, if you wish. When they are ready, bring them to the Grand Hall."

[~]

Night arrived before Syndra saw the Demacians again. They entered through the tall doors as the banquet was being laid out. The waiting staff and her attendants fluttered about anxiously, but it was not with laughs and boisterous greetings that followed. Her solemn faced guests took up their spots, the helmeted soldiers waiting as their superiors climbed to the moderator's platform.

Despite the warm glow of the overhead lanterns, or the amiable air, a chill surrounded Jarvan as he sat at the table. Min quietly set out tea for everyone, and when she finished, ushered the other servants away. Syndra plucked her cup up by the tips of her jeweled claws, inviting Jarvan to do the same with a nod.

They drank, and then he spoke.

"I apologize for my earlier rudeness. It was—unbecoming, to leave like that."

Sitting upon her slightly raised seat, Syndra deigned to give him a nod and she set her cup down. "A warrior might see a thousand deaths and never blink. A good man would weep at each one, no matter how steady his hand."

"That they would resort to such abominable acts is new, even for them. I thought myself well versed in all their manners, but clearly I am not."

She wondered if it was more than just the promise of violence that concerned him so. The sovereign pointed toward the center of the table, and all their eyes fell upon the map she ordered laid out. A vast swathe remained blank, simply marked as 'Ionia', while the south-western area stood with great detail.

"In seeing that merest glimpse, I must burden you once more with another. Here before you is a map of the war lands, and here you might see the extent of their ambitions."

Jarvan sat upright a little more, Garen and Shyvana mimicking the motion. Karma sat toward the middle of the table, helping to direct their attention.

"The black circles, squares, and others are villages of Ionia," she informed, pointing as needed. "The red is where Noxus has set their holds firmly, while the yellow indicates the Ionian Guard."

"And the green?" Jarvan asked, his finger sweeping across the paper in a practiced motion. Karma and Syndra shared a look at his question, and their long silence made him look up.

"There were villages there, once," the Duchess answered, not quite looking at the map anymore.

Not one Demacian flinched, but Syndra could see the stone in their gazes harden. "Perhaps now," she remarked, the shadow of her helm casting her glowing eyes with a terrible visage, "you have an appreciation of what the word 'hate' means to me."

"… Aye." Jarvan held his head with one hand, his chiseled jaw locked tight. "These straight roads they hold are trade routes?"

"They are. Whatever does not provide them with resources or ways deeper into Ionia, they destroy."

"This is not like them," Garen mumbled, obviously to himself, but loud enough all their eyes turned upon him.

"How do you mean, sir Garen?" Karma prompted, and the bulky Demacian joined Jarvan in pointing at the map.

"Noxus hungers for land and territory, yes, but they want the people, too. More soldiers, farmers, workers, they don't care as long as the tithe is made. This …. this is not like them. What does such vile evil serve?"

"A question every Ionian begs to know, and the answer still eludes us." Syndra's lip turned up into a distasteful snarl. "Perhaps they have no need of such, except our bones and flesh for their crafts? Surely you are no stranger to their death arts, either."

Garen's lips pursed, the look of one who refused to believe what was before him. At the least, Jarvan's calculating gaze held an impression of understanding.

The prince sat upright, his eyes set upon meeting Syndra's resolutely. He drew in a breath, and the sovereign leaned in with interest. "Long has Demacia watched Noxus' ambitions, and long we have struggled for answers. They hold us at bay, and by the time we reach those they invade, it is always too late."

He swept his hand toward the map as he spoke next. "To see that not only this tide of darkness held back, but beaten, and to see them driven out, it fills me with renewed resolve. The Ionian people have shown a courage and fortitude that I am all too humbled to see myself."

Jarvan set his hands upon his knees, mimicking the stately pose Syndra herself sat with. "Know that I am the Crown Prince of Demacia, and with all that is in my power, Sovereign Syndra, I would help your people. In this, I still yet must convince my fellows of, but I will make them see reason."

A smile peeled across her painted lips, and it was all Syndra could contain her satisfaction to. Their game, however, was not yet over. "The Crown Prince you are, but I know not of such a reach it has in Demacia. How would you find your fellows' … eagerness?"

The emboldened look in his eyes turned to a grim contemplation. "War with Noxus is inevitable once more, as it always is. Some may trust in the strength of our mountains, but we cannot trust them forever. Something must be done."

"I find this evil that is both our banes lies between our two countries. Does it not, Duchess?" Syndra looked over and found an affirming nod. "I care not for the thing that is war, but I cannot help but think this a most _dangerous_ position for them."

"I am of a like mind, and if I were to be so bold, the armies of Demacia and Ionia would form the hammer and the anvil to break the Noxian empire."

It was such a fanciful idea, bordering the ludicrous. To dream that the invaders and their seemingly endless supply of Black Ships may finally stop was almost too good to be true. Syndra's fingers came together, their jeweled tips clicking in her barest expression of excitement. She could not get ahead of herself, but still, it was a long-awaited breath of fresh air.

"I might think, Prince Jarvan," Syndra said, "that in spite of the world separating our two countries, we would find a field to share. Perhaps you in your mountains, and us our temples, but either would find a good home and food for the journey when visiting."

"You've a keen mind, Sovereign Syndra. I can imagine trade might flow as well, but that is something I know for certain others will debate fiercely."

"If I might," Karma interjected, "tea may be good for this occasion?"

Jarvan chuckled, a lighter sound than one might expect. "Now there's an idea. Would you join me?" He asked, holding the cup and staring at Syndra. The sovereign dipped her head permissively and raised her own cup.

"To our first steps, Prince Jarvan?"

"Aye. To first steps, and more."


	7. Chapter 7

[~]

On the last day she would meet with the Demacians, Syndra pleasantly found herself seated once more on the jiao. Polite talk covered the rest of the prior evening, and she found it tasteful to leave the subject be. Dinner proved amiable to finding out how reliable the Demacians may be with Jarvan's involvement.

"Tell me, Duchess," Syndra inquired, leering at the Demacian soldiers lining the walkway back to the portal. "Did everything go as you hoped?"

Karma, off to the side in her black-white dress, merely watched the foreigners. Her lack of answer prompted Syndra to look upon her and find the weary face she'd so masterfully hidden the last few days. A woman far older than any would believe her capable of.

"You've done well," Karma answered at last, turning to meet Syndra's scrutinizing glare. "That the Demacians did not throw their chopsticks and leave is, an improvement, I suppose."

A bark of laughter came out of Syndra in her own haughty way. "Come now, Duchess, you must not be so unlike yourself. We face the prospect of an ally against Noxus, is that not what you wanted?"

"What I want, and what I hope, are two different things."

"My mind finds itself intrigued by your own contrary desires."

"Can one so simply answer a Valoran problem with another one?" Karma fired back. "Or do you only believe it to end when Noxus is off our shores?"

"To ignore the foremost problem in anticipation of fate's whimsical ways is truly arrogant, Duchess."

With a turn of her head, Karma stared at Syndra, and the sovereign enjoyed the subtle twitch of anger in her eyes. A slight narrowing, the skin pulled taut, and the lips once so flush now a little thinner. To anyone without firsthand experience with the 'Enlightened One's great restraint, it might seem to be apprehension.

"Know this, Karma—" Syndra's authoritative voice rose, and the air trembled as the faintest ripple of her magic came forth. "To see my lands whole is my greatest concern. What blithering debate about tomorrow you, and the others, entertain is a luxury _afforded_ to you by _me_."

There was that subtle challenge in Karma. The ever restrained magic in the duchess' grasp begged to be released, to issue its own fight against her command. Her eyes narrowed, but that tongue stayed silent.

"In this, you will find a spot at my table. But, I should wonder aloud the usefulness of a regent who entertains such _secretive_ dealings." The sovereign smiled a neat, toothy smile. "Do not fret when your errant goodwill finds a firm hand guiding it back to Ionia's interests."

In that lapse of conversation, a scarce few seconds where no one was looking, the Mu Guard came. They materialized in an instant, standing at attention in their neat ranks behind Karma. Only after they were there for three heartbeats did the Duchess react, keenly aware of their new presence.

"And what interest is it of Ionia to invite such things then, my _Sovereign?_ "

"Just as the mountain cannot stand to the ocean, the ocean cannot keep mountains forever. What is oft remembered of the ones who try to keep the water at bay with naught but bowls?" Syndra's hard gaze pulled up and she stared down the walkway to where the Demacians gathered. "Something more grand than pitiable tools is needed, firstly. Then we will see what becomes of the ocean."

The Mu stepped forward, and in near silence, each took up their seating at the jiao's outer rim. Together, they sat as one in a flawless grace. Karma spared them a guarded glance before turning to look at the Demacians with Syndra. "You see water where I can only find fire, and that is what concerns me."

"It is good, then, that mountains do not care for such a thing."

Their conversation faded as Min, leading Syndra's purple-clad attendants, came up the walkway. Jarvan, joined by Shyvana and Garen, followed her, but the rest of his soldiers crowded around the portal. He stood at the bottom of the stairs with his fellows, while Min and hers joined Syndra on the jiao.

"Sovereign Syndra, and Duchess Karma, our time has sadly come to an end," Jarvan announced, and bowed. Not in the awkward manner Syndra first beheld, but something close to an Ionian form, his arms splayed aside and his head dipped. Not all the way, but enough to be passable.

"I find myself anticipating when we might dine once more," Syndra returned, if only to be polite, and graced him to rise with a lift of her hand.

"Already do I find myself intrigued to visit again, and I hope I can do so one day with clear skies and hearty weather." He stood up then, his face taken by a charming and handsome smile.

The sovereign let Karma return it, she did not care to do so. "You and yours will find our gates open when you do. I can only wonder if the rest of your fellows might be so inclined to accompany you."

His smile turned to a look of pensive contemplation in one seamless transformation. "Aye, as do I. I thank you for the gifts of your home, and for the … captured weapons. They will prove strong in convincing them, but I fear time will be both our enemy."

"It is always, for even great mountains are slow to move."

If only she could see the look on Karma's face now.

"That they are. I would not want to be presumptuous, so what will be of the fair portal between our lands?"

"I deign to permit it be, so that you and yours may find a swift way to us." Her glowing eyes slid off Jarvan for just a moment, regarding the quiet dragon beside him. "Even if only a few can come through, I cannot think of any more worthy to do so."

She made a mental note to have Min order the manasmiths to fashion more defenses in the Placidium. Irelia would undoubtedly have to be informed as well, the longer she thought on the matter. _At least the Captain is less of a headache to deal with._

Karma raised her hand in a polite wave goodbye. "Be at peace, Prince Jarvan, sir Garen, lady Shyvana; it is often hard to find, and important to cherish."

With such an opportune cue, Syndra clapped her hands once and the jiao shuddered. Her magic surged forward and wrapped itself around the wooden carrier, illuminating it in a dark purple glow. The Placidium natives and Karma backed away, giving it clearance as it rose from the earth in a near silent hum. Jarvan gave her a large, sweeping wave goodbye.

As their attention was drawn back to Karma, undoubtedly speaking more of her pleasantries, she saw one of them still looking. Golden eyes stared up at her, fading as they were, keen as a predator. The easiest smile she had since this whole debacle came to Syndra, and she returned Shyvana's look warmly.

 _Would you visit again? I wonder …_

That plague of curiosity struck and followed her all the way back to her fortress, docked as it was with the Placidium. Syndra found such games of nations tedious at best, but the dragon stood as the most intriguing prospect of all.

 _Perhaps a powerful play is in order._

[~]

As Jarvan and Garen exchanged further pleasantries, Shyvana drifted away from them. They would do well to leave shortly, and she was finding herself missing the colder air in Demacia. A sigh slipped out as she stood at the guard rail, staring out into the vast Ionian fortress beyond.

That dark glowing woman went flying off to it as if it were any other day. No incantations, no rituals or icons of power. That great sea of magic came at her call and a tiny sprout was all it took to send her on her way.

Shyvana's scaly brow creased the longer she thought on it. _What sort of mage can do that?_

It boggled the mind, one more mysterious question amongst many. She tried not to think of that insufferable, knowing look the sovereign had given her in the garden the other day. The mere idea of someone even _thinking_ they understood her set her blood boiling.

Try as she might, she was getting pissed off about it again.

"Ho there, Shyvana!" Garen called out.

With a suffering sigh, she pulled away from the ledge and went to join the others. Half-way to, the ground beneath her feet rumbled, and a terrible crack of stone and earth shattering thundered the area. Magic swelled over her senses, a suffocating purity so intense she could scarce sense much else.

Her soldiers came rushing by, two stopping to check on her as the rest took up positions around Jarvan. She waved them off, the shock passing through as quick as it came, and rushed to stand guard with the prince. "Is it an earthquake?" she demanded even as the tremors had seemingly vanished.

"No, it's—"

"By the Gods!" Garen cut off Karma with his loudness, finger pointing. All of them turned to follow it, and each beheld a sight beyond their wildest dreams.

The very earth of the distant fortress, and its many strangely sloped and wooden buildings, moved. Not in any might heave, or a buckle of earthen scars that such quakes brought, but a gentle glide, a rise as simple as one lifting a plate or fork. In a silence nothing so vast should be capable of, the lands languidly pulled away from the Placidium, unbothered by the audacity of its action.

"What is that? How is it moving?!" Shyvana waved her hand at it and looked over, her gaze upon the silent Karma. Jarvan and Garen joined her, their eyes fighting to find an answer and to behold the spectacle.

Karma held her hands out in a placating way. "Our sovereign is merely returning home, I would not worry."

"'Returning home'?" Jarvan echoed, an utter incredulity to his once stoic face. "By what do you mean?"

"It is rare for her to descend to this earth, but she deigned to join us in this wonderful meeting."

The woman was nervous, Shyvana knew. The scent of sweat and fear was an obvious one to her practiced nose. Not lying, per say, but the reserved Duchess was not at all herself. "Explain yourself. How many mages does she need for such a thing? Rune magic?"

"No, none of that is used here."

Shyvana's helmeted head cocked to the side. "What?"

Karma waved her sleeved arm at the ascending fortress, now so plain to the eye to be the floating island it truly was. Its wide spread lands folded in, hugging to itself as one would after a mighty hug. "It is by our sovereign's will and power alone that her _Celestial Fortress_ moves. In all my years, I have never known any but her to do so."

"That's impossible!"

"… Would she be a god?" Jarvan supplied, sounding rather curious about it.

 _A god?_ Shyvana marveled at his demure act.

"No, she would be mortal as much as you or I. For how she can do so, I have never discovered, and I am as awed as you are."

If the woman wasn't lying, she was really good with word games, as far as Shyvana was concerned. Jarvan went back to saying their goodbyes, but she couldn't help watching that impossible thing fly away. She had not thought much of it at all, the supposed castle and its fortifications comically poor by Demacian standards.

Now, the dragon could only wonder how one could defeat a fortress whose walls were the sky itself.

The call came to depart as the floating island was swallowed by the clouds, vanishing without so much a groan. As she checked over her soldiers and the new supplies they'd be returning with, a curiosity tickled the back of her mind. Glowing eyes, brimming with magic, and that 'sovereign's insufferable know-it-all look plagued her all the while.

And yet, out of any nobility she'd ever met, a suspicion the woman did know simply would not leave her be.

At least the return home to Demacia would bring back the familiar problems she had to deal with.

[ THE END ]


End file.
